Canada's most wanted

So apparently yesterday's post was a success, in that at least my fellow blog-ista Snappymack took the bait of the "More at 11" teaser and wanted to know more.

And the answer is "no."

Now what was the question?

Oh yes, am I going to Canada or not?

Sadly, I'm not.

Not that I couldn't--will work for temporary visa and all that--but sometimes things just don't go as planned, even if you have thought, re-thought, re-re-thought, and re-re-re-thought every imaginable glitch, bowel-churning consternation, chillblain-inducing surprise, clammy-palmed realization, spoiled Happy Meal circumstance, lackluster denouement, bile-tasting interlude, and prematurely ejaculating conclusion you could have thunk up. See here for proof.

Sometimes the known is too much. Do I want a bigger job than the one I already have? Nope, not necessarily. Do I want to be 65 miles from Toronto but still not close enough to Toronto to fully enjoy except on weekends when I'm not too tired from work to fight weather and traffic to go into the city? No, I probably don't. Do I feel like packing all my belongings, for the third time in two years, and moving in a month's time? Good golly no!

Sometimes the unknown is too much, and when all is said and done, it becomes a case of better the devil you know than the devil you don't. (All hail, Kylie Minogue, who, for the record, is Australian and not Canadian, but hey, it's the Commonwealth, what's a funny regional accent and a royal-appointed head-of-state among friends?)

Lots of people to meet, personalities to interpret, nuances of character and gesture to comprehend. An entirely new system of bureaucracy to identify and maneuver. Maybe another language to acquire, new social and professional skills to learn, old ones to brush off. Radical thinking here, but perhaps my life should be easier the older I get, not more tiring, more complicated, and more frustrating. Dang, I don't even like it when my computer runs slow or someone tailgates me in traffic. How am I going to handle the society and politics of a completely different country?

Nonetheless, in this case, ultimately, my decision not to go is based not so much on the known or unknown but instead more on the realized and remembered.

Duty, responsibility, conscientiousness, obligation. Certainly not the hippest of values, the coolest of traits these days, but despite some horrible style choices in my time, I'm generally not one to follow a trend.

Details, details. Ah, well, let's just say that maybe for a moment before saying "yes," I realized that it's not so much what work you do and where you live. Maybe for a moment I remembered that it's more important who you love and how you show that love. Sometimes you show that love by deferring a dream (for now) and staying put.

No, I don't have a boyfriend. As if. Besides, if that were the issue, moody loner that I am, I would have definitely said yes to the job, just to get away from him for a while. Yep, I'm just that contrary.

However, I do have a family--I wasn't just hatched and kicked out of a nest, you know--and over the last few days, it became more apparent to me that I might need to think less about my needs (always such a challenge, dear readers) and stick around for them.

Thus, in my long list of thoughts to ponder for the Big Move, I managed to think about everything but this fact. Or, rather, I thought about it and then checked airfares, motor routes, passport regulations, and family member sponsorship under Canadian immigration law. I did the responsible and the practical. Yet somehow I missed the realistic.

How practical is it to live in another country that soon will necessitate a passport to visit? How responsible is it to be, despite a major move, still a two-day drive away, a connection-through-Chicago plane ride in the distance (and we know how I feel about that already), from family? How realistic is it for me to move to a country that rations healthcare and has extremely limited private medical facilities, so that while I, a working resident under the age of 50, might have all the access to healthcare necessary, older non-resident, non-working family members who might need to relocate near me would be perceived as an "undue burden" on social services? How is any of that showing love and responsibility?

Therefore, despite everything previously that had compelled me to say "yes"--and I was this close to doing so--I had to say "no."

Of course, after turning down a well-paying offer at the last minute with a vague explanation about "family" and "commitments," I'm sure I've become the most hated man in all of Ontario, if not all of Canada. My mugshot will be displayed at border crossings and Canada Post offices everywhere for years to come. Letters to the editor of the Globe and Mail will decry my un-Canadian-like behavio(u)r. Tim Horton's throughout the land--and trust me, around Kitchener-Waterloo, they are like the Starbucks of the Great White North--will refuse to serve me coffee and doughnuts, with (probably unionized labor) staff greeting me with an un-cheery, "Why don't you try Krispy Kreme down the road in 'America,' you loser."

But it was bound to happen eventually. I mean, c'mon, given my boca grande americana, it's inevitable that I would offend someone as soon as I crossed the border, uttering some smart-assed remark or making some egregious social faux-pas that, like the softwood lumber controversy or Mad Cow Disease, would bring about an international incident and prompt censorial admonitions throughout the provinces and territories.

For example, couldn't you just see me sitting quietly and serenely at the start of a Canadian Football League game between the Saskatchewan Roughriders and the Ottawa Renegades, then rising at the start of the national anthem, "Oh, Canada"--but then singing it to the tune of "Oh Tannenbaum"? I'd be like some Canadian-American Kramer symbolically torching the national flag through my actions in front of God, queen, and country on Puerto Rico Day.

In reality, of course, I would have alienated a nation before even getting a ticket to the game with some snarky remark about the "Canadianness" of teams full of American players or a smutty jibe at the word "roughriders."

Darlings, when my picture is on the cover of Maclean's, I'm the lead story on The National, or the celebrity profile in the Canadian edition of Hello!, it's going to be for all the right reasons. Like "Province-Wide Recognition for Hottest Immigrant" or "Parliament Grants Citizenship to Canada's Coolest Middle-Ager" or "Bloggerloo! Meet Canada's American Internet Royalty: Lord Rap Licious!"

In other words, it will be for something realistic and practical and ever-so-likely to happen.

Kinda like the rest of my life.